Isengard's Deceit: The Death of Uglûk
by Zoop
Summary: The ponderings of Uglûk, left for dead by Éomer on the edge of Fangorn Forest. COMPLETE


I've been told names are important, so this one's mine. I was named Uglûk, _slayer of all_. The Pitmaster used to give us good names, strong names. Names to be proud of. These days he seems to be running out of good ones, or he just doesn't care like he used to. One of the lads under my command is named Bûbhosh. Rather amusing, since he doesn't like pork.

Of course, his guts are all over the plains now. Like as not, his corpse is at the bottom of that pile over yonder. First one down. Good lad, he was.

They must have missed me in the confusion after that horselord captain laid me open and left me for dead. Or perhaps they ignored me on purpose. I am well-positioned to watch my lads burn as my life bleeds away. Cruel as an Orc, these Whiteskins.

Why so many? What did we accomplish with so many? Fetch one halfling. That was all. We found two. Thought that would gain us favor, I suppose. Very important little halflings, guarded by only a handful. What was the need for so many of us, against so few of them?

Saruman knows. The White Hand knows all. He knew there was no resistance to be had. There was no cause for two full companies.

All we accomplished was to leave a trail across Rohan that any Whiteskin could follow. They found us, and they slaughtered us.

Why so many?

I did not like the idea. It did not seem a risk worth taking. No matter what _Shark__û__'s_ little Dunlending pets seem to think, we are not _stupid_. I am, myself, one of the first bred in Isengard. I am not a young pup, like those I command. I know what is smart, and what is stupid.

Marching two hundred across the plains, leaving a trail you cannot hide, is stupid. Coming back the same way... well now, that is foolhardy. And we paid. The halflings were lost. They either lay in the pile with my lads, or the horsebreeders took them.

Whatever their fate, we failed. _I_ failed. I commanded, so it is my fault. I should have questioned. I _wanted_ to, but I couldn't. Why can I question _now_, when it is far too late?

The Voice is gone, that is why. When I woke here, I heard no murmur, no whisper, no _will_. Is it because I failed? Is that why he has abandoned me?

_Sharkû's_ Voice is gone now, and I can _think_. And this, for what it is worth, is what I think.

For all _Sharku's_ words of praise, his admiration for our strength, we were never enough. He called upon Dunland, and brought _them_ to bear. Some march beside us, but more are set above us, in command, as though we are not wise enough to lead. Now why is that?

Some of those in my command, I have to admit, require a heavy hand. They are young, eager, and not well disciplined at times. They are given to me to mold and shape, to teach them how to follow orders, and have at them with the lash if they don't.

And what do the Dunlendings do? They tell _me_ what to do, though I have led companies of Uruk-hai for decades. They tell _me_ who to see to because _they_ are offended. There was an Uruk of my company they demanded I flay because he spat on a Dunlending. Why did he spit? Because he was insulted. Of course, I was easy on him. He bears stripes to satisfy the Hand's pets, but they are not deep.

Why so many? There are tens of thousands of us. We are an army that cannot be defeated. We are Fighting Uruk-hai! We are _bred_ to fight. We come from the ground with fire in our bellies and blood in our eyes. And yet we are not enough. Why would he need _Men_ to fight Men? Are we not good enough for that?

This I do not understand. I have _never_ understood. _Sharkû_ would not tell me, if I asked. He has a way of making you not _want_ to ask.

If we are not as praiseworthy as he would have us believe, if we are not sufficient for his purposes, then what are we? What _are_ we?

If I'd had my way... if I'd had my _mind_, when we were sent on this mission, I would have picked ten good, sturdy lads. That is all we would have needed. Just ten. Ten move faster, because _ten_ bitching about running for leagues is much easier to manage than two hundred. We would have run and left no sign of our passing, or so little as not to be noticed. Rohan would have been none the wiser. We could have gone to the river and chosen our moment to take the halflings and go.

Because there were so many of us, we were forced to engage, and several were lost. And because there were so fucking many of us, we caught the eye and the nose of Mordor's rats. Then we needed two hundred to keep to _our_ mission, to follow _our_ orders.

But if we had ten... ah, _then_ we could have avoided them. Seen them coming and slipped away.

Saruman did not want it that way. He sent two hundred. And we, with targets upon us, obediently ran across Rohan, churning up the earth, tearing the land, leaving our mark upon it, and somebody noticed. Somebody called for our blood. They came after us and took it. Because of _Sharkû_, and how little he thinks of us.

You did not want to listen to your Uruk-hai, Saruman. Who _did_ you listen to? Who told you to do this; to send two hundred to their deaths? Who... ah. No wonder the Mordor rats caught up to us so quickly after leaving Isengard. _He_ knows more of what you are up to than you think, eh?

Did you think we would attract trouble from your Master, that you sent so many? Hmph. What better way to ensure trouble found us, than to send so many we could not be overlooked by _any_?

Why hit a nail with a hammer, when a boulder will do? Well _Sharkû,_ you get one chance with a boulder, and sometimes you miss the nail.

I know what will happen now. Besides me dying and finding out where Orcs go, in the end. I always wondered. No, what will happen is Saruman will find out. He will learn of our failure, and he will blame me. I made some foolish choice, or I did not follow orders _properly_. I failed him in some way.

Perhaps I did. I failed my lads, certainly, because I did not question my orders. I did not listen to my gut telling me that this would not end well. That it was too much. I did not fight against _his_ Voice, urging my compliance and my agreement and my _shut the fuck up_. He does not hold the Dunlendings in such sway. And perhaps that is why _we _were sent on the mission, and not them. Whatever the halflings had that was so important we were to deliver them with all haste, was _too_ important to trust to Men. Because Men would keep it for themselves. The Uruk-hai follow orders.

Can the White Hand not crush their wills as easily as he does ours? They are free to speak and question. If they hold back, it is from fear. I do not fear _Sharkû_.

All I fear now is what comes after. To hear the Dunlendings speak of it, there is judgment. There is recollection of past deeds, and there is accounting. What shall _my_ accounting be? What punishment will _I_ suffer? I do not know.

Will I be punished for failing? For doing? I suppose it depends on who is standing in judgment. If I am to be examined by the judges of Men, then I shall suffer great torment, for Men hate us as we hate them.

But then, if I am to be judged by those who look at Orcs and decide _their_ fate... then I shall suffer _greater_ torment, for I am made from Men. The _snaga_ Orcs do not like Men or anything touched by Men. They do not kill us upon our birthing only because Saruman does not let them. But if I am left in their hands, and there is no White Hand to stop them, then I shall never know peace.

It is quiet here; I do not mind it so much. And so I wait. Torment or torment. Pain or pain. Whichever way it goes, I will join my lads soon, and we will scream together.

I am Uglûk. I have spoken.


End file.
